


Mr Mystery & the Magical, Colorful Peacock

by AvaRosier



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Robb likes to wear eyeliner and pretty panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 05:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10379367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: Robb and Oberyn are such close neighbors they can’t help spying on one other. Maybe it’s inevitable that ~something~ would happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tweed_princess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweed_princess/gifts).



 

* * *

 

_Pop!_

Robb groans as he holds the stretch for another two seconds before relaxing, arms dropping loosely against his sides. It’d been a long, busy Thursday even if he’d gotten off work at two in the afternoon, mostly because he was a glutton for punishment and had gotten up at five thirty in the morning for a run before work. Which he’d done in spite of knowing that he’d be meeting with Mr. Tarly today.

 _Fucking Randyll Tarly_.

Robb had graduated top of his class with excellent recommendations that had secured him a great job as a creative strategist at  Edgerton & Massey Advertising in King’s Landing, and he’d been hired precisely for his ability to think outside the box when it came to marketing strategies. But _fucking Randyll Tarly_ and his worthless son, Dickwad, kept shooting down his proposals for their advertising campaign, instead suggesting old-fashioned ideas that would do nothing to reach their new, younger target audience.

And Robb can’t just tell them to hang because a failed campaign would reflect poorly on him. Either he finds a way to sway the Tarlys over to his plan or he lets go of them as clients. The latter isn’t an option he wants to take, not when he still feels like he has to prove himself to his older, more established coworkers. Sometimes being an adult sucks.

His flat is on the third floor of an attractive, white-painted, building in the Hook. The area’s been developed heavily over the past decade, with more restaurants, shops, and cafes popping up every month. Robb loves it because he doesn’t have to walk far for necessities or pleasures and it’s a quick tram ride to the office. High ceilings, plenty of windows which means plenty of light, and a lot of open space between the living room, the dining area, and the kitchen.

Speaking of light…

He sets his empty glass of water down on the counter and makes his way along the wall, cracking open several windows with a surreptitious glance across the way into the building next to his. Another renovated industrial building, of which there are easily a dozen in the area, albeit red-bricked. His neighbor across the way has twice the square footage that Robb does. The buildings here have a tendency to be almost uncomfortably close together- something about how zoning regulations hadn’t existed seven decades ago. What it means is that, courtesy of the narrow alley below, he can easily see into the flat across from him. He’s not disappointed the man isn’t there. Really.

_Come on, now, let’s not fool ourselves._

Thing is, Robb has known since he was a teenager that he’s not entirely straight. He just tends to be attracted to women more often than he is to men; he’d give it a 15-to-85 point spread in favor of women, actually.  Not like Sansa who has dated both women and men with equal odds or Bran who has been with Jojen since junior year of high school. The men who actually pique Robb’s interest are relatively few and far in between, and the man in the flat across the alley definitely makes the cut.

He’s older, by maybe fifteen years, and based on the jerseys he wears on certain football game days, he hails from Dorne. The man, whom Robb refers to as ‘Mr Mystery’, looks to be about the same build as him: lean muscled albeit with bigger arms.  His black hair has a slight curl to it when it’s grown out or not styled, which it rarely is; he has a hooked nose, tanned skin, and a smile that verged more on a smirk. Given that he frequently heads to and from his flat in a suit, Robb deduces Mr. Mystery has a professional job. The sight of him in well-tailored trousers and a jacket, with his shirt partially unbuttoned never ceases to make Robb drool.

Mr. Mystery looks just as hot when he’s naked.

Oh yes, Robb knows _exactly_ what he looks like naked; the older man is uninhibited about sauntering bare-assed through his flat. Even worse? Robb’s bedroom looks into the other flat’s and on more than one occasion he’s been able to peek through his curtains into Mr. Mystery’s bedroom as he fucks one of his myriad of lovers. Men and women, occasionally at the same time.

Solid gold, A+++ wank material there, that is.

Realizing he’s been standing there in front of his open windows, staring into his neighbor’s living room like a creep, Robb shakes his head and makes his way into his bedroom. He normally keeps his sleeping area relatively neat but there are signs of relaxed vigilance: his clothes hamper is out of the closet and overflowing- he really ought to do laundry this weekend- and more than one pair of shoes are strewn about. Not for the first time, he is grateful to his sister Sansa for taking over the reins and making sure his place was tastefully decorated once he had the money to buy decent furniture and bedding.

It’s Thursday afternoon, but with the return of spring weather in King’s Landing after a chilly and damp winter, it feels more like a Friday. Raising his blinds and opening one of the windows in his bedroom, he nearly moans at the feeling of sunshine on his face.  Winters in the south do nothing to faze his Northmen blood, but he appreciates the warmth nonetheless.

Off go his work clothes, joining several days’ worth flung over the arms of a chair in the corner. Robb decides he feels like being pretty today. So off go his black boxer briefs and he fishes a lacy thong in an arresting shade of peacock blue out of one of his dresser drawers. Pulling it on, he whistles a half-forgotten tune as he slides his arms into the YiTish silk robe Talisa had left behind when she moved out.  He doesn’t stop there- grabbing the stubby pencil off of his dresser, Robb carefully applies a thin layer of smudged black kohl around his eyes. With a few swipes of mascara hiding the reddish brown hue of his eyelashes, his eyes seem brighter.

There.

The makeup thing, he’d discovered freshman year of college when he dated serious, quiet little Roslin with the unfathomable depths. She’d liked to sit on his lap and put makeup on him. Robb had been surprised how much he enjoyed it (and not just because it was often a precursor to sex). Later on, he’d been surfing the internet when he saw a picture of a male model wearing a very silky, very feminine looking pair of panties that had obviously been designed with cock and balls in mind. Even now, he can remember the way his heart pounded and his hands felt a bit clammy as he placed an order for his own pair. It’s not something he thinks a lot about. He’s not exactly ashamed that he likes wearing pretty panties or putting on a little makeup, but it’s something _private_. Of course, he does go to great lengths to hide this from Theon, one of his own best friends.

Hence why he’s glad Mr. Mystery isn’t here to see him; he can walk around the flat like this and enjoy the warmer breeze as he stands in front of the long, open window, face upturned.

“Well, hello there,” a voice calls out in a low, silky purr.

Robb startles, head whipping down to see none other than Mr. Mystery leaning over the wrought iron balcony outside his bedroom, holding a half-empty pint of beer in one hand and taking a lazy drag from the cigarette held between two fingers. He’s in casual jeans and a button down that looks like it hasn’t been ironed in a long time.  Mr. Mystery gives him a not-subtle once over and Robb would swear he could feel those brown eyes on his bared skin. He almost wants to preen, to strike a pose showing off his body, but instead he stands there like a complete idiot.

 _Seven bloody, buggering hells_.

 

* * *

 

 

Oberyn knows he’s being very blatant right now, checking out the younger man like this, but, he thinks as he takes another drag from his cigarette, he’s been noticing his neighbor for some time now and there’s no point in beating around the bush. Especially not when said neighbor is parading around in front of Oberyn in naught but a robe and lacy panties. Practically gift wrapped just for him, really. And now the man is flushing a rather fetching shade of pink.

“Do you know, we’ve never exchanged even a handful of words in the past six months, and yet I feel like we already know each other, given how much we see of each other every day?” He asks, opting to not comment on the other man’s state of undress. Oberyn can see a hint of fear and embarrassment in those blue eyes. Best not to push too hard just yet. “I’m Oberyn Martell, by the way.”

“Robb Stark.”

Ah, he has a name! Oberyn can’t seem to control the grin tugging at his lips. Over the past few months, he’s found himself standing at the window, watching Robb go about his day. These glimpses, at first, hadn’t amounted to more than merely noting how attractive the auburn-haired man was, if at a distance. Oberyn is a man of many passions, and what he doesn’t express in the courtroom or the fencing piste, he expresses with his various lovers.

Then one morning Robb was standing there in front of the window near his kitchen, gulping down some OJ after a run, the hair on his chest and underarms damp with sweat. Just watching the bobbling motion of his Adam’s apple had blood rushing to Oberyn’s groin. There were other sightings, such as the times when he walked tantalizingly close to the windows in nothing but a towel around his waist.  

Oberyn is forty-two, not dead.

“I would’ve thought you’d be at work right now,” Robb inquires, tone deceptively casual.

“Pott, calling kettle?” Oberyn shrugs. “Won a case but I got a little…intense…during the trial and my partners strongly suggested I take two weeks’ vacation.”  He had won his case against the slimy underworld kingpin himself, Petyr Baelish, sending the asshole to prison for the rest of his natural life. Which, given the enemies the man had made since details of his double-dealing had surfaced during the trial, would not be much longer indeed. 

So, Oberyn’s blood is up and he’s more than ready to relieve some of that tension. No doubt Mr. Stark has noticed the variety of lovers that he’s had in his flat.  Oberyn has never made any bones about the fact he has no intention of marrying and while he’s had fairly serious relationships in the past, long-term ones, they’ve always been open-ended.

Robb snorts, ducking his head down as he breaks out in a wide grin. “Suggested or threatened? I envy your vacation, forced or not. But alas I’ll have to go back to work tomorrow.”

A flick of his fingers to knock loose a bit of smoldering ember from the end of his cigarette is all the time Oberyn spends contemplating the pros and cons of his next comment. “Well then, I suppose you’re just going to have to make your early afternoon worth it, won’t you?” He takes a slow sip of his beer, enjoying the faint citrus taste, bitter and foamy, on his tongue. He’s only drank enough to feel buzzed, and the alcohol has mingled with the arousal in his bloodstream to make his skin tingle and his cock thicken against the constraints of his jeans with a faint ache.

Robb is watching him intently, with a focus and a half-grin that feels more like a challenge. “I bet you have a few ideas on that matter.”

“It just so happens I do. Perhaps I could come over and discuss them with you in person?” Oberyn trails his eyes over the pelt of hair on Robb’s chest, following the thin line down to where it disappears into blue lace. When he looks back up at Robb’s face, the half-grin has grown into something more wolfish, and Oberyn suppresses a shiver.

“Maybe you should. I’d hate to not relax properly.”

He claps a hand on the railing, breaking the spell of building tension. “Give me five. Don’t slip into anything less comfortable.” With a jaunty wave, he’s heading back through the doors, stubbing his cigarette out and leaving his sweating glass on the kitchen counter. Oberyn doesn’t glance back outside to see if Robb is still watching as he returns to his bedroom and grabs some condoms and lube out of the bedside drawer.

Never let it be said that Oberyn Martell doesn’t know how to take advantage of an opportunity when it presents itself.

 


End file.
